Enemy's Arrow
by pocketfulofmumbles
Summary: "It wasn't like Denmark to be so quiet. Usually he laughed off the constant insults, but now he just kneeled in the dirt, staring morose and unblinking at the neat little hole Finland's arrow had made."   War brings them together. Pre-slashy DenNor.


**A/N**: So I started this months ago... I wanted to do something different from SuFin for a while, refresh myself, I guess. I found it half-completed on my computer this morning and had the impulse to finish it. So... here! Have some badly titled DenNor!

They all use the names they call each other in their respective languages, but I don't. Because I like to be confusing. And Iceland is off pillaging or discovering somewhere. This is so historically inaccurate. I, history student, am ashamed.

Warnings: Blood, swearing (in English and Norwegian), and copious use of adverbs and passive voice.

Enjoy!

**oooooo**

Norway still remembered the day, back when they were all still living together in the Kalmar house, when Finland, of all people, approached him. The future nation was just a boy then, jumpy and apologetic, but even then he'd had an eye for things that others did not. Perhaps that was why he talked to Sweden so much.

Norway had been sitting in his room, writing to his brother about the fight Denmark and Sweden had had that afternoon. Fighting in the house was nothing new, of course, but Denmark had won this one, leaving Sweden a crumpled, bloody mess on the floor. All through dinner the insufferable Dane bragged to Norway, the only other person at the table, about how he had defeated his opponent. The meal ended with Norway storming from the room after a heated argument about international treaties.

Norway sighed, frustrated, and dipped his quill into the ink well, but before he could set the point to parchment, there was a soft knock at his door.

"Enter." He said shortly, assuming it was a servant. He was surprised, then, when he turned to see Finland edging into the room, cringing away from him as if afraid of a reprimand. Norway sighed again- this time with less irritation- and smiled slightly, gesturing for Finland to come closer with one long, elegant finger.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, you know. I am not your superior."

Finland's posture immediately relaxed, but his expression remained strained and conflicted as he approached the older man's desk. "U-uhm..."

Norway was concerned. He'd always liked Finland, and seeing him in such a nervous state was very disconcerting. He brushed a pale hand over the soft blonde hair. "Whatever is troubling you, Suomi, you can tell me. Sverige and Danmark will never know."

The boy seemed instantly calmed by the use of Finnish in adressing him, and he began to speak, "W-well... it's just... I heard you and Tans—Danmark fighting at dinner."

Norway retracted his hand rather too quickly, though his face remained calm.

Despite the lack of the comforting physical contact, Finland recklessly continued, "And... I think you should know that... that Danmark does care about you."

Norway snorted and crossed his arms. "You are mistaken. He is an idiot who only thinks of himself."

To Norway's surprise, Finland did not back down, but shook his head violently. "No, no, he really does."

Norway arched an eyebrow. Finland flinched, but floundered on in his usual babbling stutter, as if the words were fighting and tumbling over each other to get out.

"W-well, he's always fighting with Su-san, and whenever I do anything wrong he punishes me, but he never hurts you, ever. Not on purpose, anyway. And he doesn't eat at all when you leave for voyages, you know. He stays in his room. I think he's really worried about you when you go away."

On the surface, Norway was as placid as usual, as if Finland's words had not even effected him. But inside he was stunned. He could not see Denmark ever being kind and considerate to anyone, yet the image of him restlessly pacing his rooms, grasping at his already wild hair, came so easily to his imagination. And when he thought of the way the Dane looked at Sweden with such malice and Finland and Iceland with such little interest... and then of that silly, stupid smile that was always, infuriatingly, plastered on his face whenever he was in company with him... Suddenly, Finland's words did not seem quite so improbable to him as they had before, and despite vehemently wishing otherwise, he felt a warmth at the thought

He must have sat silent for a long time, because Finland began to squirm. After a few more moments the boy cleared his throat.

"N-Norje?"

Norway jumped at the timid sound and turned, slightly bemused, to look at the young man at his side. "Huh?"

"Oh! Um... I... I think I'll just go back to Su-san now. His... uh... b-bandages need changing..."

"Oh, yes, alright. Goodnight, Finland." Norway nodded absentmindedly at the hastily retreating Finn and turned back to his letter, though he did not move to put his quill back to the parchment until the candle had burned down to a flickering stub.

oooooo

Denmark staggered through the smokey air, tripping over hillocks of grass and fallen men covered in blood and gunpowder. Gripping a gash in his arm, he lifted his head and called into the gloom, voice rising in panic.

"Norge! Norge! Please answer me!"

Stumbling over the tangled limbs of a dead horse, Denmark cursed under his breath. Damn that Swede! Damn him to Hell! And damn that little twerp Finland, too! Finland, with his eagle-eyes and expert marksmanship. This was all his fault. How could he even _see_ Norway from that distance? The arrow, fletched with the Finn's signature colours, had plunged deep into his companion's side as they charged forward, and Norway fell. Denmark had tried to turn his horse back, but against the unstoppable tide of his own men he had had no choice but to continue on into battle. If that stupid Finn hadn't hit his mark, Norway would be standing victorious by his side, not dying somewhere among the scattered remains of their defeat.

"Norge!" He yelled again, becoming desperate as the hopelessness of his situation sunk in. He'd never find him in this mess! There were too many bodies. Too many corpses to sort through. He was lost to the ghosts.

"NOR—"

"Stop shouting, idiot, you're making my headache worse."The voice was weak, breaking with the effort of speech, but it was unmistakably Norway's. Denmark whipped around.

The other nation lay on the ground, propped up against the lifeless body of his horse. The tattered Danneborg he had carried into the fray was clutched to his side, dark blood staining the lighter shade of red. Denmark sprinted over, skidding painfully on the rocky ground as he dropped to his knees next to his injured friend.

"Norge! You're alive!"

Norway rolled his head over to stare at the Dane, eyebrow raised in an expression that dripped sarcasm. "Obviously."

Denmark either didn't notice the icy retort or chose to ignore it as he bent down over Norway's torso, gently peeling the blood-soaked banner away from the wound. They hissed in unison as it was revealed, Norway in pain and Denmark in concern.

"It's deep. It'll have to be stitched up." Denmark muttered, ghosting his fingers over the oozing blood surrounding the cut before halting suddenly. "Wait... how'd you get the arrow out?"

Norway rolled his eyes. "The fairies helped me." He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Denmark only stared at him, brow twisting in confusion. He sighed. "What do you think, _tulling_? The normal way people get arrows out."

"Oh."

The short, almost distracted reply gave Norway pause. It wasn't like Denmark to be so quiet. Usually he laughed off the constant insults, but now he just kneeled in the dirt, staring morose and unblinking at the neat little hole Finland's arrow had made. Norway was so preoccupied by the uncharacteristic melancholy that seemed to have stolen over Denmark that he didn't notice the hand traveling from his injury to his arm until it was too late to stop it.

"What—"

He never got a chance to finish as he was suddenly pulled into a tight hug by the Dane. For a moment he struggled in the strong hold, but his battered body protested at the violent motion and he stopped, though his muscles remained rigid.

"Ow! What the hell are you doing? You're going to make it worse! Let go!"

Denmark ignored him and buried his face in the Norwegian's shoulder. His voice was small and muffled when he spoke. "I'm so happy you're alright..."

Norway twitched in confusion, the muscles in his back unclenching ever so slightly as the effort to stay unyielding to Denmark's enveloping arms taxed his dwindling strength.

"I'm sorry." Came the Dane's voice again, even quieter than before and audibly laced with guilt. Denmark tightened his grip and Norway suddenly felt a warm drop of water slide down his collarbone.

His second twitch was one of shock, and his hands went reflexively to his companion's shaking shoulders. He glanced at the wild mane of hair quivering next to his ear. No, he couldn't possibly... but yes, that wetness on his neck was unmistakable. Denmark— unflappable, conceited, stupid Denmark— was _crying_. Crying out of shame. Crying for _him_.

Norway's mind drifted back to the night Finland had come to him, insisting that Denmark cared. He hadn't believed him then, but now... now, sitting on the battlefield wrapped up in the arms of his weeping comrade, Norway believed. He believed and understood, and for once in his cold, war-torn, wandering life, he felt safe, warm, and secure. In a rare show of emotion, Norway surrendered the last of his strength to hook his thin arms around Denmark's shoulders in a return embrace.

And there they sat, holding each other close. Norway's wound throbbed, Denmark's cuts bled, but neither noticed as around them the dust of war settled on their broken army, glowing a dull, angry red in the light of the setting sun.

**oooooo**

WOW That was super angsty and verbose. I didn't mean it to be so depressing, I'm sorry. Not too sure about this one... not sure if they're in character. Though, Denmark does strike me as the kind of guy who is a silly ass normally, but dead serious during war. And as to Norway, I don't see him as the bitchy little brat a lot of people portray him as... he's too elegant and classy for that. I personally think he can be quite kind. Just not to Denmark. Most of the time. Hm. Back to SuFin!

Oh, almost forgot... The internet tells me that "tulling"="fool" in Norwegian. I'm sorry if it's wrong!

Also also, I feel bad for making the Danneborg touch the ground. :/


End file.
